Dreaming of Paradise
by Midnight Star 2373
Summary: Thomas went through a lot during the Trials. Now that he's in Paradise he's left with the memories of all those he has lost. Without his friends by his side he must discover what really makes a paradise a paradise and how he can achieve happiness again. One-Shot.


Disclaimer: James Dashner owns The Maze Runner books, characters, and everything else. This is a work of fiction and is not meant to break any copyright laws

Rating: K+

Author's Note: This is a One-Shot I wrote of Thomas trying to figure out his feelings after the events of The Death Cure. The beginning is a little rough but I promise it gets better! I hope you enjoy reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it.

**Part One**

"_Nobody is fully ready for paradise. That is why_

_'the kingdom come' will be like thief in the night."_

~Toba Beta

Thomas was wandering in the woods. He often spent a lot of his time alone and in deep thought. He had many demons, and many people haunted his both waking and sleeping dreams. He couldn't talk to people about them, since no one could understand the full extent of what he had lost. The only people he could talk to were the reason he was torn apart.

He'd lost almost all of his best friends. The only ones left were Minho, who was suffering on his own, Frypan, and Brenda. Brenda was more than a friend, but she couldn't understand him. She couldn't possibly understand anything.

Thomas heard a screech, interrupting his reverie. It wasn't quite human, and he wanted to investigate the source. As he crashed through the jungle of the new paradise he found the creator of the sound: a brightly colored parrot with a twisted leg. It was hopping on its good leg and shrieking. The more Thomas watched the poor creature the more he realized that it was crying out from its broken wing, not its leg.

Parrots were nothing new; they flew overhead and entertained the young children for hours. But this one was different, and Thomas took pity on it. He slowly walked to the distressing animal and carefully scooped it up in his hands.

As he walked back towards the main camp he whispered soothing words to the little bird. It quieted down and Thomas snuggled the little life form to his body. Something so small and so delicate deserved special attention.

He took it to the medical hut. It had been the very first building to be constructed, and luckily a couple of the Immunes they had rescued had medical backgrounds. The main nurse was a middle-aged woman who had renamed herself Clara.

"What do you have there, Thomas?" she asked kindly as Thomas stopped in. He placed the little bird on one of the tables.

"I found him in the jungle while I was walking," Thomas replied. "Felt bad for the little bugger."

"Aw, didn't know you had such a soft heart," Clara teased. She gently looked over the bird. "He's a baby, and it looks like he was born with this leg. A genetic mutation. His wing is broken, and it might take a few weeks for it to heal."

"So he'll be okay?" Thomas confirmed. Clara nodded. "Now get along while I work my magic, Thomas," she said, shooing him out. As he touched the doorknob he heard a sound come from the baby parrot that sounded awfully like a word.

The bird opened its beak and crowed again. "Tommy," it said. "Tommy."

Thomas froze, and he quickly ran out of the hut and slammed the door closed behind him. He ran to the edge of the cliff and sat down. Memories flooded him, and he couldn't help the few tears that leaked out of his eyes. No matter how many times he had tried to shove away the memories they kept coming back. Everything reminded him of the friends that he had lost.

Only one person had ever called him Tommy, and that person was long gone. Lost to the past.

"What's up, shank?" a voice said. Thomas quickly wiped his eyes before turning around.

"Hey, Minho," he replied, trying to keep his voice even.

"Heard you met some animal friends on your walk today," the boy commented, plopping down next to Thomas.

"Yeah."

Minho stared at the water crashing on the rocks far below them. He had a look about him that Thomas knew too well; it was the look of one experiencing the past, the look of one suffering.

"This place sucks," Minho finally said, coming back to the present.

"What do you mean? It's perfect. It's Paradise," Thomas said, though in his heart he didn't totally believe it.

"Next time you walk you should walk around the village. Look closely and watch everyone. Maybe you'll understand then." Minho stood. "For now you need to get your shuck face over to the edge of the gathering place. We're making the new houses and could use some help."

The boy walked away, and Thomas was left staring at his retreating back. The same person had once been brave and fearless and had never been able to turn away from his friends. Now it seemed that all Minho did these days was walk away.

They'd all been changed by what they'd gone through but Minho's damage was the most extensive. That's why Thomas couldn't talk to him about his demons; they would only further destroy Minho. And he couldn't wreck the boy more than he'd already been hurt.

**Part Two**

"_Even paradise could become a prison if one had enough time to take notice of the walls."_

~Morgan Rhodes

Thomas chopped and split wood until his back ached and sweat trickled down his forehead. In the Scorch it had been hot but they hadn't had to do backbreaking chores like chopping wood and building things. Thomas yearned for the Glade where all the buildings had been prebuillt. This hard work thing did not agree with him.

After Thomas had washed up and drank some water he remembered Minho's comment. He walked slowly around the town, watching everyone closely. He didn't notice anything, except that many of them were still shocked by what had happened to them. Some of the children were still crying over lost siblings or parents, and many of the women held their remaining children close. The men tuned their suffering out with work, and the young boys made new friends and played to help forget the ones they had lost.

One woman was sitting by herself on the edge of town, sobbing into her hands. Thomas went up to her and sat next to her.

"Are you okay?" he asked gently. The woman looked up, her eyes filled with grief.

"How could I be?" she replied. "After all I've lost."

"We're in Paradise now," he said softly. "You have to let go of whoever or whatever you left behind."

"How can you be so blind?" she accused, though her tone held more disappointment than anger. "This is not Paradise. This is a prison with beautiful interior decoration and sugarcoated with a false security of the future."

"How is this a prison?" Thomas had never thought of it as one. He'd thought of it as a way to escape his past and create a new, brighter future. It was a reward from Ava Paige for all he had done, and it was a way of securing the future of mankind.

"The walls are all around," she said. "When we stepped through the Flat Trans they were taking us from one prison to the next. Most people here are too relieved to be alive or too depressed by what they've lost to really look around them. I didn't lose anyone; I'm sad because I've discovered the truth about this place. I've discovered the truth about life. It is just one big prison, and the guards change. Some are crueler and some are kinder."

"If this is a prison then who is the warden?"

"God," the woman replied. "God is the warden. Death is the only escape, and we're supposed to do as much good in our cells as we can before we die. Then we'll be rewarded and we'll truly be in Paradise."

Thomas excused himself as he thought about her words. Was this really a prison? The more he thought about it the more logical it seemed. The only exit had been burned, and the real world was gone from them. They were really trapped in a prison disguised as paradise.

But a part of him knew that this was not what Minho had been referring to. He set off once again in search of why Minho was convinced that this place was the worst place to be in the world, though he kept the woman's words in mind.

**Part Three**

"_She ran away in her sleep and dreamed of paradise"_ ~Unknown

Thomas was walking around the edge of the village when he heard them. A group of little boys, the youngest eight and the oldest no more than thirteen playing together. When Thomas could finally see them he smelled sweat in the air and wondered how the boys could wrestle with the dampness and humitidy of the air, not to mention the heat.

The boys were playfully calling each other names as they tackled, hit, and dog piled on one another. There seemed to be no rules, only playing. One little boy sat alone a few feet away, wistfully watching.

One of the older boys untangled himself from the group and marched over to the sitting boy. "Well are you going to join us or not?" he demanded, pulling up the kid and leading towards the others. "I'll try my best to introduce you to them, though when they're a human knot it's hard to see who's who."

Thomas was reminded of another little boy he'd been good friends with. Chuck. In the Glade he'd taken Thomas under his wing and taught him the ins and outs of the Glade, the boys, and helped him get in trouble with his foolish pranks. He'd been so innocent.

Thomas remembered painfully how he'd promised Chuck to lead him to his parents. Chuck had always thought about them, though he tried to deny it, and the little boy had always thought the world outside the Maze was a paradise. He had dreamed of a world so wonderful and full of life. Although it pained Thomas to think it, he wondered if it hadn't been for the best for Chuck to not make it. The boy wouldn't have made it through the Scorch, and even if he had his innocence and his trust and everything that made him who he was would be gone.

And yet, why did Thomas still miss the shank so much? Was it because whenever he saw a younger boy he thought of him? Was it because Thomas had promised to take him to his parents and failed?

Mostly Thomas was sure it was because he told Chuck that his parents were still out there, and that when they made it out everything would be fine again. That wasn't the case. There were still two Trials, the whole rebelling against WICKED, and the final battle. Thomas had promised Chuck something that hadn't been real, and he felt bad knowing he lied to the kid. Sure, it wasn't on purpose but it was still lying. And he knew it wasn't his fault the boy had died but he had still broken his promise to save the kid.

Thomas broke his gaze away from the boys and continued moving on. If he stopped for too long he would wallow in the grief.

Thomas just had one quick stop to make before he discovered what Minho meant.

**Part Four**

"_It has always been this way. Death is followed by birth. To reach paradise, man must pass through inferno."_ ~Dan Brown

Thomas stopped at the hospital building and ducked in. Clara was bandaging up a little girl's knees and he waited patiently for her to finish. When the little girl finally ran out Clara turned to him.

"Want to check on your little friend?" she asked. When Thomas nodded she said, "Good, because he keeps asking for you."

"What do you mean?" Thomas followed her to a small room in the back.

"The little guy keeps asking for Tommy," she replied. Thomas shook it off though he was a little concerned.

"Does he say anything else?" he wondered.

"He's just a baby, but he's picking up on our language quite quickly. It seems that he has an accent, though. I'm not entirely sure what kind of accent." Clara lifted the top blanket off a tiny bundle on the table. The little baby parrot was sound asleep.

"You mean like a parrot accent?" Thomas inquired as he stroked the multicolored feathers softly.

"No, like an accent. Maybe Italian, or French or British. Something like that." Clara covered the bird back up and shooed Thomas out of the room. "You'll hear it when he's awake. He's doing fine, you'll be glad to hear. I haven't really had any serious patients besides a few children with scrapes and bruises so it's nice to have a little company, even if that company is a bird."

"That's good. Thanks for being willing to take care of him," Thomas said.

"It's a joy to work with pain as simple as broken bones or cut skin. I did some psychology in my training and it was so sad to see all of the mental illnesses that plagued people. Depression, anorexia, social anxiety disorder...the list goes on and on. That's why I chose the physical ailments. Plus I feel nice and charitable. Like Mother Teresa. You've heard of her, right?"

Thomas didn't want to be reminded of her. Not Mother Teresa, but of his friend Teresa. She had been so close to Paradise...until she'd sacrificed her life to save him.

"I have to go, but thanks," he stuttered as he stumbled out. The light seemed to burn his eyes. He hated that his memories kept flooding in and twisting his life around. He didn't want to think about the girl he had onced loved. He didn't want to think about the innocent boy who he had promised so much to. He didn't want to think about the best friend he had lost.

But Teresa kept invading his thoughts. She had been with him ever since he'd showed up to the Glade. She'd helped him get the others out, and she had never once doubted his decisions. He remembered the telepathic link they had shared. He remembered the warm feeling he had felt when she talked to him, when she kissed him.

Then she had sacrificed their entire relationship to save his life and he had totally turned his back on her. He'd been deeply hurt and even though she had perfectly good reasons to excuse her actions he'd ignored them all. The second time she had saved him she'd ended up crushed under hundreds of pounds. Her last words had been about how he was the only she had ever loved...and minutes later he had been making out with Brenda in Paradise.

If that said anything about him he felt really bad. He sounded like a total douche bag. Here he was laid back and relaxing in Paradise while his first love was rotting under rubble. Her death had been extremely bitter. He supposed that bitterness and hardship had to come before the good ending, had to come before Paradise. His biggest regret was that the bitterness had to be Teresa and not anyone else.

Thomas sighed as he finally moved on. He had to accept that she was gone and there was nothing he could do about it now. He had to accept that war had its victims and that she was just one of many, and that no matter how much it hurt she would be more hurt that he had dwelled on it for so long. He remembered in the Glade how everyone always reminded him that he had to work so that he wouldn't become sad.

And he had important work to do: he had to figure out what Minho meant by this not being Paradise. And he had to find out why it wasn't as great as he thought it was, though he was beginning to get an idea.

**Part Five**

"_The true paradises are the paradises that we have lost." ~_Marcel Proust

Thomas wandered around, not really doing anything. He observed the people as he walked. He wasn't sure why people like Clara could be so happy, and why people like that woman by the side of the road had been so depressed. Maybe it was because Clara had accepted her losses, and the woman was still lingering on the discovery of the prison.

More than that, Thomas wondered how he could become happy.

Thomas saw a young teenage girl with blonde hair and green eyes, and she looked so much like one of his past friends that he felt a deep sorrow well up from in his soul. She seemed so happy and full of life as she ran around and played with her friends. It hurt Thomas. It wasn't fair that she could have so many friends left alive while the ones that really mattered to him were gone.

He moved on, but everywhere he went he saw people talking and laughing and hanging out with their friends. He wanted to shut out the sadness that wrenched his heart. He had once been like them. He had once had friends. He once had best friends that had always been by his side and had made a bad situation seem better.

Thomas once had friends that enjoyed his mere existance and his company. He used to laugh and have inside jokes with them, and they would have followed him anywhere through anything.

And suddenly he realized what Minho meant. How could this place be Paradise without the annoying but cute Chuck, tough and kind Teresa, loyal and brave Newt?

Newt was the final blow. Thomas knew he would never get over the blond boy with the telltale limp and bright eyes. The one who trusted him and supported him from the very beginning. How could Thomas be in Paradise without him?

This place was nice, but it was not, nor could it ever be, Paradise. Not without the brightest light in his life. How Thomas could've missed it at first he had no clue. But now it was painfully obvious.

There was a hole where his heart was supposed to be. A hole that only a certain blond boy could fill. Thomas suddenly felt how crushingly empty it was. From the very moment that Thomas had pulled the trigger his heart had truly fallen into a black abyss of no return. How could he live being the only who knew what he had done?

Thomas had told himself that he could never tell Minho what happened, but the emptyness of Newt's absence was killing him. There was only one way he could fix it. That was to let Newt go. But how could he let Newt go when the secret ached and clawed to get out?

The Maze had seemed like a terrible place when Thomas had been there, but now that he knew what 'Paradise' truly felt like he knew that the Maze had been a real one. Being surrounded by Newt and Minho and Teresa and Chuck was where a true Paradise had been. Now that three of the four were gone he truly understood what he had lost.

Thomas set off to talk to Minho.

**Part Six**

"_There are two kinds of paradises in our universe: The ones which have been created by the evolutionary processes and the ones which have been created by the living beings! There exists no other paradise!"_ ~Mehmet Murat ildan

Minho was sitting by the edge of the cliff when Thomas found him. He had that faraway look in his eyes. It was now or never.

"I know what you mean," Thomas said softly. Minho was quiet for so long that Thomas thought his words had been carried away by the wind.

Finally the boy spoke. "This place is awful, isn't it? It was obviously created by natural processes and nature, and everyone else seems to enjoy it. Nice plants, good fruits, tall trees, green wildlife and blue skies."

"But he's gone," Thomas agreed. Minho's face contorted and Thomas saw him desperatly trying to keep tears from falling.

"Part of me still thinks I'm going to wake up to his yelling like in the Glade. It doesn't seem real in the morning, but when I get up and go through the motions I realize that his smile will never brighten up my day, and that his shuck face will never yell orders or welcome a new Glader.."

Minho paused and stared out at the water far below them again. "I used to have nightmares every night, Thomas. I dreamed horrible, terrible things. Grievers eating everyone except me, those Cranks and lightbulb monsters killing everyone-it was awful. Then I suddenly stopped having them. Up until we went to Denver I had nightmares. After that the real nightmare was when I woke up and Newt wasn't there. I haven't had a nightmare since. Because they all became true."

Thomas realized he was crying. He realized the same thing had happened to him. Minho had just put the feeling into words.

"I miss him more than anything, but maybe it was better for him to die," Thomas said gently. Minho's gaze snapped up.

"What do you mean by that?" he demanded, anger lacing his words.

"Did Newt ever tell you how he got his limp?" he asked.

"He didn't need to tell me, shank. I was there. But he told everyone he had tried climbing out of the Maze and had slipped. Must've been pretty shuckin' high to be hurt as bad as he was." Minho sighed. "Why? Did he tell you different?"

Thomas nodded, and braced himself for what he was about to say. "He told me...told me he hated the Maze. He said he climbed as high as he could and jumped off. He tried to kill himself, Minho. The shuck face tried to kill himself." Thomas couldn't hold back the sobs.

Minho couldn't even. He just sat there, stunned. "He lied. I was his best friend and he never told me." He kept muttering to himself as Thomas tried to contain the sobs. Finally he calmed down enough.

"Bet he told you when we were escaping from that WICKED facility and me and him were arguing because I was being a shuck face and he had the Flare. I remember he took you aside and talked to you himself. If only I had been kinder…" Minho trailed off. Although Minho's logic made sense it wasn't the truth.

"No, he-he told me right before the end." Thomas could barely get the words out past the lump in his throat.

"The end? Like his death? But we didn't see him die...unless there's something you're not telling me." Minho looked Thomas straight in the eye. "I don't care how painful it is, you are going to tell me everything that happened. I deserve to know."

Thomas nodded, and his eyes blurred with tears. "When he pulled me aside he gave me a note. Told me to read it when the time was right. And that I had to do what the note said if I was ever his friend."

Minho's eyes widened. "What did it say? Damn it, Thomas, what did it say?" he was practically screaming.

"I opened it too late," Thomas sobbed. "I opened it too late."

"_What did it shuckin' say?_"

"'Kill me. If you've ever been my friend, kill me.'" Thomas started crying harder, and he couldn't see past the bluriness that was his sight. Through the clear glimpses he saw Minho was doing the same.

Minho finally punched the ground so hard that he cried out. "What did you do, Thomas? I need to know."

Thomas shook his head. He regretting ever bringing it up. "You don't want to know."

'It can't be worse than not knowing," Minho argued.

"Yes, it is _way_ worse than not knowing."

Minho struck out and grabbed Thomas in an iron grasp. "Tell me."

In his eyes Thomas say the same rage that had overtaken Newt before...He had to tell Minho. The boy had to know.

"When Brenda and I were with The Right Arm we were driving through Crank infested cities...we saw him. _I_ saw him, Minho. I saw Newt with the other Cranks." Thomas couldn't shake the oncoming memory off. It felt like he was there again.

"What was he like? What did you do?" Minho's voice was dangerously calm.

"He...wasn't quite Gone. Close, but he still had sane moments." Thomas swallowed before going on. "He remembered everything. He was upset that I didn't follow his note. He was really mad. He-he said-" Thomas had to inhale deeply. "He said he hated me. He said 'I hate you I hate you I hate you'. It hurt, Minho. He also said he didn't want to see me. I tried to tell myself that he was just going crazy, but I had broke my promise. He had every reason in the world to hate me. He was suffering because of me."

Minho was silent for a few minutes. "You're avoiding telling me. Why won't you just shuckin' telling me what happened?"

"After he said he hated me he tackled me. He knew I had a gun in my hand but he knew I was too soft to shoot him. I could never shoot him, even if I knew he was suffering. That was when he also told me how he got his limp."

"Of course you couldn't shoot him," Minho murmured. "You've never been able to make the hard decisions. So what happened?"

Thomas felt his heart sink. He didn't want to admit his sin to Minho. He didn't ever want to confess. But he had to. "He was kneeling over me and...he took my gun, which was still in my hand. He-"

"He shot himself? The shuck face shot himself?" Minho shook his head and punched the ground again. "I can't believe it. Why didn't you stop him?"

"What happened was much worse. He didn't shoot himself. He couldn't, Minho. Not after failing to kill himself before. Someone else had to pull the trigger."

Realization dawned on Minho's face even as Thomas began to retell the story.

"He put the barrel against his forehead. He begged me, Minho. Seven times he said, 'Kill me'. He was crazy, insane. I could see it in his eyes. They weren't his own. He had succumbed to the Flare. He was screaming how he didn't want to become one of_ them _but he already was."

"So that excused you for killing him?" Minho hissed. Thomas could see him so close to breaking.

"No, nothing will ever excuse me for what I did. But he wanted it so bad, Minho. He yelled, 'KILL ME'. Then his eyes...they cleared. He was sane again, if only for a brief moment. But he whispered three words that will forever haunt me." Thomas sighed and slapped his hand against his leg, trying to find the courage to repeat them.

"Tell me. I don't care what they are, I need to know his last words."

"_'Please, Tommy. Please'_" Thomas choked and his voice cracked. The rest of the words came out in a rush. "He was so sincere, so...so like the old version of him that we all knew and loved. He was begging me. I had to, Minho. There is no right and no wrong anymore, only evil and less evil. The greater evil would've been to let him live and suffer."

"How can you sleep at night?" Minho asked. He wasn't accusing Thomas, he was just curious.

"I can't," Thomas admitted. "His last three words keep me up from the time the sun dies to when it is reborn. And also the knowledge that even though I lied to him, broke my promise, and caused him to suffer-he still called me Tommy. No matter what he said he still loved me, and that is something I can never let go."

"If it was the other way around, and I was the one with him, I would have shot him. I wouldn't have thought twice about it. You've always been a better person, Thomas. You don't deserve this." Minho sniffed.

"No, I'm a horrible person. I let Teresa sacrifice her life to save me. I let Chuck jump in front of that knife aimed for me. I killed the boy that saved my life countless times."

"You didn't kill him, Thomas." Minho voice was calm and collected, and he was genuinely compassionate. "You saved him. You set him free. You cured him from the Flare. Now you need to let him go."

"But now Newt's gone. _I_ pulled the trigger, Minho. I _murdered_ him. He was my best friend, and I ruthlessly killed him." Thomas felt more tears fall. How long could he manage like this? He was constantly crying over someone who was never coming back.

"If he was here he'd tell you to get off your bloody butt and get to work. 'You get lazy, you get sad. Start givin' up. Plain and simple.' He always used to say that. I think it's best we listened to him. What do you think, Thomas?"

Thomas looked over at Minho. "I think you're right."

Minho stood. "I think you'll rest easier now that you got that out of your system. Some secrets are meant to be shared, lest they become unbearable burdens."

"You're not upset?" Thomas wondered.

"I am. I'm upset at Newt, and at you, and at WICKED for doing this to us all. But I've learned that you need to remember, to survive, and to run. We need to remember Newt always, and to remember what he meant to us and what he taught us. We need to survive, and to survive we need to work off our sadness. We don't run like in the Maze anymore, but we have to keep moving on, keep living life. That's how you shuckin' live life."

Thomas wiped his eyes. "You sound just like him."

Minho smirked. "Shut your bloody hole and get to work, shank."

Thomas returned the smile. "That's the most awful British accent I've ever heard."

"Whatever, Tommy."

"I have one more question," Thomas asked. "One more serious one."

"Ya?"

"If I let him go...will things get better?"

"What would he say?" Minho asked.

"Thanks," Thomas replied. That answered all his questions, though he still missed the shank more than anything else.

**Part Seven**

"_Spread kindness, caring, and compassion and create your own paradise. Infuse it with joy and you've created heaven on earth."_ ~Amy Leigh Mercree

For the first time in days Thomas was able to sleep without remembering Newt's last words and his tortured face. When he woke up he didn't enter a nightmare; instead he woke up to the sun shining down on his face and hope for a new life and new happiness.

As Thomas walked around the village that day, doing chores and running errands, his heart felt lighter than ever before. He felt the absence of his best friend, but it wasn't a suffocating sorrow and grief anymore. It was simply a pensive emotion.

He smiled and spread his joy around. When there was the young blonde girl sitting and crying all alone Thomas took her to go see the parrot and tasked her with the responsibility of taking care of him. She brightened almost immediately.

The little boy who had been left out of the circle of friends was aimlessly throwing stones off the cliff. Thomas showed him how to skip the rocks across a little lake hidden in the jungle.

When Clara forced Thomas to have a medical exam because she thought he was sick he admitted all his bottled up feelings about the friends he had lost. She sympathized with him and exchanged her own stories.

Minho took charge, and in him Thomas saw a part of Newt. It didn't make him sad anymore, only proud that his friend had taken charge. He even followed the boy's barked orders.

When Brenda came around to visit him he confessed everything to her. He told her all about Teresa and how he had once loved her; now he loved Brenda. She forgave him and told him that it was okay, that she had also had a past lover.

Thomas had made this Paradise a Hell by choosing to dwell on his bad past. His mind had had him convinced that there was no good left. He'd dulled the sun to a pale and dying color and willed the beautiful and vibrant colors of the jungle to fade into blacks and whites by staying in the past. Now that he was in the present and had let his friends go everything was brighter, more colorful, and more beautiful.

By letting go of bitterness Thomas had created a new Paradise. Sure, it would never as good as if Newt and Teresa and Chuck were here, but he was making the best out of what he had been given. He was making the best plays out of the hand of cards he had been dealt. Now he just had to make others realize the secret.

He encountered the woman who had been crying by the side of the road and he went up to talk to her. "This may be a prison, but I've found the escape," he said.

"And what would that be, praytell?" she asked.

"Joy. And letting go of everything that is out of our control," he replied.

"It seems to have worked in your case," she murmured. "Perhaps. But letting go isn't that simple. This is a tainted Paradise."

"This Paradise will only be as good as you make it," he responded. She smiled, and nodded.

"I will take your advice, young man. Do not expect it to be easy."

"If life was easy then it wouldn't be worth living," Thomas said. The woman nodded again thoughtfully. Thomas knew as he watched her walk away that she would take his advice. And he hoped she would spread it on to as many other people as possible.

He went on his way, convinced that the only way to secure this Paradise was to spread happiness and joy. He had to let people know what he discovered the hard way. The world would be a better place for it.

**Epilogue: Several Weeks Later**

_We'll find paradise together, whatever form that might take." _~Lisa Mantchev

Thomas, Minho, Brenda, Clara, and the blonde girl stood at the edge of the forest. The parrot was perched on the girl's arm. Marie, she had renamed herself as.

The parrot was healed now, and it was time to let it go. Thomas had gone to visit it often, Marie always there. She had taught it everything and nursed it back to life with the help of Clara. The girl was sad to see it go, as was Thomas, though he knew it was for the best.

"If you really love something you have to let it go," he said. "You have to let them be free."

"I know," Marie replied. "I had to let my family go to be here. I had a brother, too, though he left before I was five. He was very young and smart. I wish I had known him better. I never got over his leaving."

"Then pretend his soul is in this parrot," Thomas suggested. "Let him go now."

"I will," she smiled. Then she stretched out her arm and shooed the little parrot off. He flailed his wings a little before he managed to soar up. As he flew higher and higher into the sky Thomas felt freer and freer.

The five stood for a few more minutes, watching the bird until it flew out of sight. Thomas put an arm around the girl as they turned their backs and started walking away. Marie wiped away a few tears before she smiled up at Thomas.

"Thanks," she said. "You're very wise."

"I was taught by the best of them all," he replied. Suddenly a blur of red came down and the parrot landed on Thomas' shoulder.

"Tommy," he cawed. "Tommy."

"He likes you," Marie giggled.

"It appears so," Thomas remarked, petting the parrot. "Well if he's going to stay we'll have to name him. What do you think, Marie?"

"I think you should name him. After your wise friend," she suggested.

"Well then. I dub thee Newt." Thomas looked at the parrot. "That's your new name. Newt."

"Newt loves Tommy," the parrot squawked. The others laughed, though Thomas murmured, "I know. I know he loves me. And I love him, too. That's why I let him go."


End file.
